


remember your virtue (redemption lies plainly in truth)

by ReminiscentRevelry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Family, Fix-It, Gen, Good Uncle Gabriel (Supernatural), Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), POV Gabriel (Supernatural), Post-Season/Series 13, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28547106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReminiscentRevelry/pseuds/ReminiscentRevelry
Summary: Gabriel has walked every fledgling through their molt since God created angels, but the last fledgling molted millennia ago and he hasn't been to Heaven in centuries. Now, with Jack going through his own molt, Gabriel is reminded of how his family used to need him and how, maybe, they still do.
Relationships: Castiel & Gabriel (Supernatural), Gabriel & Jack Kline, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	remember your virtue (redemption lies plainly in truth)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths.  
> Me: I'm going to write a one-shot!  
> Me, ten thousand words later: _fuck_  
>  This started as "I want Gabriel and Jack to have a cute uncle/nephew relationship and bond over Jack molting" and it became "what if Gabriel survived the S13 finale and helped Castiel with fixing Heaven" because I can't do anything simply.  
>   
>  **Background relationships:**  
>  Gabriel/Sam Winchester/Rowena MacLeod  
> Castiel/Dean Winchester

Gabriel had gotten somewhat used to the bunker before their jaunt into the Apocalypse World, and he could easily say he _vastly_ preferred it without thirty or so people milling about and filling the space.

With just five people, it was easy to find an empty spot to sit with his thoughts in silence. Dean only bothered him if he needed something or thought he was about to go off the deep end, Castiel would sometimes look at him with that head tilt and squinted gaze like he couldn’t tell if he was going to fly away at the drop of a dime or start rambling, Sam would check in and offer him food or bandages and chat with him if he thought Gabriel was up to it, and Rowena would poke and prod and tease if she wasn’t busy reading through the Men of Letters’ grimoires, but they all knew that he wasn’t back to full power and needed space to rest and be alone, and they let him have it.

Now he couldn’t find peace and quiet _anywhere._ There were people chatting in the halls, hanging out in the library or kitchen, someone was always showering, Bobby had taken over the War Room, and even the garage had become a place for people to relax. The only rooms that were strictly off limits that weren’t bedrooms were the dungeon, the vault, and the Dean Cave.

Dean had banned him from the Dean Cave after he turned his records to Britney Spears and Taylor Swift. (He had turned them back, but Dean didn’t budge on his ban.)

The vault had heavy Enochian warding that he and Castiel couldn’t get through.

The dungeon reminded him of Asmodeus.

The only room he knew no one would come in was his room, with its walls still covered in Enochian letters, but he didn’t like having to reread what had happened to him. But it was the only room he had to safely spiral in, so it was the place he ended up.

“Uncle!”

Gabriel jolted slightly, turning as Jack came up to him outside his room.

In theory, he’d been listening when they told him about Jack and knew he existed. If he thought hard enough, he could vaguely remember a burst of energy through angel radio when he was conceived.

It was different to go into another world and actually _find_ Lucifer’s son, who turned out to be very trusted among the resistance fighters.

He looked like a teenager, but he was a baby. He had fought in a war with Bobby and Mary and was barely a year old.

And ever since Lucifer had introduced him as ‘Uncle Gabe’, Jack had taken to calling him Uncle whenever he saw him.

It was sweet. It felt strange, hearing anyone greet him with such clear joy, but Jack actually seemed happy to see him and had an endless stream of questions about Heaven and archangel powers that did well in keeping him from thinking about Asmodeus. He was a welcome distraction from Gabriel’s swirling thoughts.

“What’s up, Jack?”

Jack held a plate between his hands. “You weren’t at dinner. I thought you might be hungry. Is… is everything okay?”

He tried to smile, but he knew it looked as strained as it felt.

“Nothing you need to worry about, kid,” he said, taking the plate. As much as he bickered with Dean, he wasn’t above admitting that he knew his way around a kitchen, and the food smelled delicious. “Something on your mind?”

Jack shifted slightly, his hands twitching by his sides. Gabriel leaned against the wall and took a bite of his food, letting Jack take his time.

“How come you still have your wings?” Jack finally asked. “Every other angel lost theirs in the Fall, Castiel said, but you still have yours. How come?”

Gabriel paused in chewing before tapping Jack’s shoulder and beckoning for him to follow, ending up in Jack’s room. He set the plate down and leaned against the dresser while Jack sat on the bed, looking at him curiously.

“Did Castiel tell you about the different kinds of angels? Archangels, seraphs, cherubs, and so on?” he asked, arms crossed.

Jack nodded.

“Great. The spell used to lock up Heaven was designed to cast out the angels made after the archangels. So, I and my older brothers still have our wings.” He paused for a beat, then added quietly, bitterly, “The ones left, anyway.”

Michael, locked in the Cage.

Lucifer, locked in the Apocalypse World.

Raphael, forever asleep in the Empty.

“Is there a way to give the angels their wings back?” Jack asked.

“Theoretically,” Gabriel said, “the four archangels could reverse it. But that’s not in the cards, so, to my knowledge, no.”

Jack’s face fell as he said, “Oh,” in a soft, sad, tone.

Gabriel could guess why Jack was curious about wings. The humans couldn’t see their wings unless they chose to show them, but Jack was half-angel. He could see their wings and could see the stark contrast between Gabriel’s and Castiel’s.

Gabriel had six wings, like every archangel, and they were gilded gold that gradated to glittering blue from top to bottom, all shining and metallic. They were faster than any other angel’s, and he could feel the weight of them against his back, even now with them tucked against him.

Castiel had one pair, strong and powerful, and where they used to have a beautiful plumage – an incandescent, metallic black that shone with iridescence when the light hit them – they were tattered and frayed now, burnt in places and scarred in others.

Jack had wings of his own, but they were a fledgling’s wings – all downy feathers and fluff. Gabriel would catch himself watching the way Jack used them, sometimes. Where most angels kept their wings still and only moved them to fly or posture, Jack used his to emulate all of his emotions, twitching and fluttering them when he talked and wrapping them around himself when he was frightened. Humans couldn’t see it, but Gabriel and Castiel could, and he’d seen Castiel watching them, too.

“What’s got you thinking about wings, anyway?” he asked. Guesswork was fun, but he liked clear answers and reasoning when he could get it.

Jack frowned and tilted his head. Behind him, his wings twitched like they were trying to open, and he winced.

“Are they supposed to hurt?” he asked.

Gabriel frowned. “No, kid, they’re – wait. How old are you?”

Jack blinked. “A year?”

Gabriel uncrossed his arms and moved around the bed. “Lemme see them.”

Jack frowned but stretched out one wing slowly. The feathers were messy and there were spots where his wings had clearly been hurt, but he hadn’t had anyone to teach him how to care for his wings, how to preen and patch his wounds.

Gabriel ran his fingers through the feathers, frowning when some of the down feathers fell away. Beneath them, he could feel pricks where new feathers were coming in. He felt his grace stir like it wanted to reach out and help soothe the pain in Jack’s wings, little of it that he had.

“You’re molting,” he said.

“Molding?!” Jack asked, turning fast enough that his wing smacked Gabriel in the face. “I’m growing mold?!”

 _“Molt-_ ing,” Gabriel said, emphasizing the ‘t’ as he tried to move Jack’s wing from his face without being too rough. He had some power behind his wings already and that smack wasn’t gentle. “Not mold. You’re not growing mold. Stop _twitching!”_

He bit his tongue when Jack’s wing went rigid in his grip. He sighed and lowered his hands, moving around his wing to sit at the foot of his bed.

“What do you know about birds?” he asked.

Jack thought for a second before smiling. “They fly.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “They do. And their wings are modeled after ours,” Gabriel said. “They’re different in a lot of ways – they molt frequently, but an angel only molts once. Have you been losing feathers recently?”

Jack nodded. “Mostly the down feathers. I tried to clean them up, but Rowena wanted some.”

Gabriel made a mental note to ask Rowena what spell she was planning. “Maybe don’t give her any more feathers,” he said. “Your down feathers are shedding so your adult feathers can come in.” He faltered for a second, looking at Jack’s wings.

Gabriel was the youngest archangel, but he was older brother to the rest of Heaven’s host. He’d helped all his siblings through their molts, had seen their wings go from plain colors to grace-filled metallic plumage as they went from fledgling to full angel.

He wondered what color Jack's grace would make his adult feathers. He wondered if they would be similar to his father’s. Lucifer’s wings had been beautiful, a blinding white metallic all the way down. It had been the pinnacle of beauty in Heaven, when their Father was still around.

The Mark had marred them after they locked Amara away. Darkness had to go somewhere, and the blinding white of Lucifer’s wings had turned darker and darker until their Father cast him out, until he fell.

They’d burnt when he fell. From blinding white to charred black, there were chunks of feathers missing, long since been burnt beyond repair by Hell and the Cage. He could fly, but he would never regain that beauty, never have his wings back to the way they were. They would always hurt and ache, the scar tissue pulling when he stretched his wings and flew, the plumage dark and dull, a constant reminder of how far he’d fallen.

A far cry from his father, Jack’s wings were red, the fluffy baby feathers pink. They were messy and fluffy, and Gabriel had to push down the urge to preen them and stop his grace from reaching out to fix his wounds.

“Uncle? What’s wrong?”

Gabriel blinked and saw that Jack was staring at him, concern etched across his face. He blinked and felt something wet fall onto his lap – tears. He was crying.

He let out a small huff of laughter, trying to smile. “It’s been too many millennia since I’ve had to help a fledgling with their wings, kid,” he said. “It’s gonna be itchy, and you’ll want to be careful of your pin feathers, but your adult feathers are gonna grow in soon. Your wings are gonna change color a bit once they’re done, and you won’t be a fledgling anymore.”

Jack’s wings fluffed out in alarm. “But I _like_ my wings!” he said, panicked. “I like the reds!”

“They’ll probably keep the red,” Gabriel said. He stretched out his left wings for Jack to see. “Before I molted, my wings were all blue. Yeah, I know the smallest ones still are, but they weren’t that kind of metallic before. When your molt comes, your grace goes into your feathers. It’s practical, it shields them and can help them heal if they get hurt, but the shininess is the best part, in my opinion.”

Jack reached out and touched his wing gently, eyes going wide as his fingers carded through the blue feathers.

“They’re soft,” he whispered. “I thought – they look like metal.”

Gabriel nodded, trying not to shiver. He hadn’t let anyone touch his wings in a long time – for angels in garrisons, it was a bonding activity that built trust between members.

He’d never been in a garrison. He hadn’t let anyone touch his wings since he left Heaven all those millennia ago. The only ones to properly groom them before that were Michael, Raphael, and Lucifer. And their father, when he still cared about his angels, before he made the humans. The fledglings would touch his wings, but they didn’t know how to preen – they knew how to pet and explore curiously until Gabriel taught them on their own feathers, pairing them up within their garrisons to learn on each other’s wings.

Jack’s wings were small compared to Gabriel’s. Fully stretched, Jack’s wings would probably be twenty feet or so – big enough to let him fly, but not any larger.

Gabriel’s smallest pair at the base of his spine hit twelve feet fully stretched. The middle pair was over twenty feet and the top went past thirty, capable of encasing his other wings and his vessel comfortably with room to stretch his limbs. He wasn’t sure how big they were in his true form anymore – he hadn’t used it in millennia – but he felt a rush of nostalgic joy when he stretched his wings to encompass him and Jack and was rewarded with a delighted giggle from his nephew.

“They’re beautiful,” Jack said, petting his feathers.

It reminded him of Castiel as a fledgling, black wings fluffy and twitching as he’d run to Gabriel. He’d been assigned his garrison, was meant to fly with Balthazar and Anna, but he’d always preferred Gabriel.

_“You’re gentle with my wings,” Castiel told him when Gabriel asked why he didn’t go to any of his garrison members for preening. “Anna rushes and Uriel is rough when he preens.”_

_“What about Balthazar?” Gabriel asked, wiggling a down feather out of Castiel’s wing._

_Castiel petted Gabriel’s smallest wing that was wrapped around them both. “He ruffles them on purpose.” Castiel glanced at him, all trusting adoration and fondness. “And you answer my questions. Anna says I ask too many questions.”_

_Gabriel snorted. Castiel_ did _have many questions at that point, about humans and Earth and their father._

_“You have to leave the nest eventually, little brother,” he said, but as he sent Castiel back to the garrison with his wings in perfect shape, he secretly hoped he’d come back._

Watching Jack stare at his golden feathers with wonder in his eyes as he stroked them, Gabriel can see Castiel in him more than Lucifer or the Winchesters, all curiosity and open trust.

“Let me fix up your wings,” Gabriel said, already moving to sit behind Jack. “You’ve never been preened; the molt will be easier if I get rid of the old feathers.”

Jack nodded and sat still, pausing only to ask Gabriel for the computer on his table so he could pull up Netflix after Gabriel explained how to take care of his wings during his molt. He put on a cartoon that had him enraptured, a reboot of one from the eighties.

Gabriel ended up with a pile of pink downy feathers and a variety of tattered red feathers once he was done. Jack had dozed off after a while, relaxed and soothed by the preening. Gabriel moved his computer to a safe spot before tucking a blanket over him and turning off the light as he left, cold plate in hand.

The kitchen light was the only one on, Sam and Dean sitting at the table with Castiel, Mary, and Rowena.

“You missed dinner,” Sam said. “Jack went looking for you a while ago.”

Gabriel held up the plate, setting it on the metal island. “He found me. He’s sleeping.” He pulled up a chair, snagging a beer from the six-pack in front of Dean.

“Is he okay?” Sam asked, checking his watch. “He usually goes to bed later.”

“He’s fine,” Gabriel said, flicking the bottlecap at Dean. “He’s molting.”

“He’s molting?” Castiel asked. “I wasn’t sure he would.”

Gabriel shrugged. “His wings needed a preen, anyway. I don’t think he gave them much thought in the other world, they were a mess.”

“He used them as a shield,” Mary said, “more than once. I didn’t think they were physical, though.”

Gabriel made a face and waved his hand. “Eh, that’s complicated.”

“Wait, is that why I’ve been finding feathers everywhere?” Dean asked. “’Cause the kid’s shedding?”

“Molting,” Sam and Gabriel corrected.

“He’s been trying to clean them up,” Rowena said.

“Which reminds me,” Gabriel said, pointing at her and holding out a hand. “Gimme. You don’t need his feathers.”

Rowena pouted. “They could be a good spell component!” she said.

“Your spells call for angel feathers,” Gabriel said, “not Nephilim feathers. Wrong ingredient, wrong result. Give ‘em up.”

Rowena sighed. After a moment, she asked, “May I turn them into a pillow, then, if they’re useless in spells?”

Sam looked at her, bewildered. “What – no!”

“Why would you want to make a pillow of Jack’s old feathers?” Dean asked, pointing at her with his beer bottle.

“They’re very soft!”

Castiel looked at Gabriel. “You… groomed his wings?”

Gabriel nodded. “Sure did, little brother. Which leads to my next question – why haven’t you taught him about his wings?”

Castiel frowned at him. “I haven’t exactly had a chance to,” he said defensively. “Between being in the Empty and Jack disappearing, I didn’t have much time to teach him.”

Gabriel inclined his head and bottle toward Castiel. “Fair enough,” he said. He watched as Castiel looked at the table, quiet and contemplative.

“So, the feathers are physical,” Mary said, “and we’ve seen the shadows of your wings – would we even be able to see your real wings?”

“Not without Jack doing his zappy head thing,” Gabriel said. “It’s – they’re on a different plane of existence. We can see them like we can see reapers, but you’d need some help.”

“Can you manifest them?” Rowena asked. “Onto our plane?”

“With a whole lotta grace, sure.” Gabriel took a swig of his beer. “Mine wouldn’t fit in here, though. Jack’s might.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yours wouldn’t fit?”

Gabriel grinned at him. “Archangel, Sammy. I’ve got six wings, and the largest ones are _large.”_

“How large?” Dean asked, glancing at Castiel.

“Thirty feet or so? I haven’t measured them to be exact.”

“That’d be a sight to see,” Rowena purred, ignoring Sam rolling his eyes at her.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “Something wrong?”

Castiel shook his head and drank his beer, but the look in his eyes was faraway and forlorn, melancholic and sad, wistful and longing.

“You miss your wings, Cassie?” Gabriel asked softly.

Castiel nodded. “Moving around is much slower without them,” he said.

Gabriel frowned, looking at Castiel’s wings. They were still the same rainbow-black plumage they’d always been, iridescent and oil-slick, but they were a sorry sight. Clumps of feathers were missing and the ones that remained were limp and dull.

Castiel had left his garrison behind almost ten years ago. It was a long time to go without a good preen and considering how often the other angels tried to betray him, Gabriel wasn’t surprised he’d kept his wings to himself.

Preening built trust, conveyed a sense of camaraderie and family. Castiel didn’t trust as easily as he used to, and it pulled at Gabriel’s grace to see his little brother close himself off.

He reached out and put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow, nodding toward his wings.

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said.

Gabriel scoffed and in an instant, they were in Castiel’s room. Castiel stumbled slightly, landing on his bed. Gabriel sighed and sat behind him, wrapping his wings around them both.

“Do you remember when you were a fledgling?” Gabriel asked. “After you were assigned to your garrison?”

Castiel shook his head. “My memories – Naomi took a number of my memories. There are gaps.”

Gabriel pushed down the sudden rise of anger, stroking through Castiel’s feathers to find the broken and loose ones. He remembered teaching Naomi how to care for her wings – all bronzes and browns, with hints of orange – and how she’d acted above it, like she didn’t need him to teach her anything.

Intelligence angels ruffled his feathers in general. They thought too highly of themselves, even around archangels. He wondered who had told them to poke around in their brethren’s heads – if it was Michael or Raphael, or if they’d decided on their own that obedience was the only thing that mattered.

“Good thing I remember, then,” Gabriel said. “Your garrison was one of the last to be formed, but you didn’t like letting them preen your feathers. You said Anna would rush, Uriel was rough, and Balthazar –”

“Would ruffle them on purpose,” Castiel murmured. He had his hands in his lap as Gabriel worked, but his eyes were fixed on the glittering gold in front of him. Gently, tentatively, he lifted a hand to touch Gabriel’s wing.

“You would come to me for preening and we’d sit like this,” Gabriel told him. “You’d ask me a million questions – about Dad, Earth, humans, creation – and I’d answer them as best as I could.”

“Why did we stop?” Castiel asked.

Gabriel blinked. “You grew up,” he murmured. “And I left.”

Castiel glanced at him. “Will you leave again?”

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then –

“I don’t think so,” he murmured.

His grace, low as it was, reached out to the scarred and burnt parts of Castiel’s wings, trying to heal them over. It couldn’t regrow his feathers, couldn’t give back his flight and his proper wings, but it could soothe the ache, and Castiel sighed when Gabriel’s grace seeped into his wings. For a moment, their incandescence shown a bit brighter and Gabriel’s own feathers started to gleam, casting a warm golden light over them.

Castiel didn’t say anything further and Gabriel didn’t start any conversation. For the moment, the silence was comfortable.

He left with a pile of broken black feathers and went back to his room, ignoring the Enochian covering the walls in favor of putting Castiel’s feathers next to Jack’s. They wouldn’t be useful in any spells – Castiel’s were too damaged and Jack’s were too young to have enough grace in them – but they were still soft in the way feathers always were. He couldn’t fault Rowena for thinking they’d make a nice pillow, especially with Jack’s down feathers.

He reached for one of his wings, pulling out a loose feather and staring at it. It was a more muted gold, coming from his middle wing, but it still glowed with a faint amount of grace. When he put it in his hand next to a feather each from Jack and Castiel, the grace seeped out and fixed them, the three feathers now glowing. He twirled them around, looking at the bright red, the shining gold, the black that gave way to purple and blue and green.

Castiel had told him that Heaven needed him back to fix it. If he went, his grace would refill in an instant instead of taking weeks to recharge. He didn’t know if he could fix the other angels’ wings, but he knew his grace would reach out to try and soothe their aches anyway, given the chance.

He hated it, that undeniable truth about himself. He’d left his family thousands of years ago, but the core of his being still wanted to take care of his little siblings, preen their feathers and teach them about humans and Earth and keep them safe, but they didn’t need that anymore – they weren’t fledglings, they were soldiers who’d been keeping the lights on and kept Heaven running while he and Dad were gone, and they shouldn’t have to need him anymore. But they did. And he wanted them to need him – just not for leadership.

He felt his wings wrap around him – the lowest pair first, then the middle, then the top, until he was shrouded in golden shadow with just enough light to see the three feathers he twirled between his fingers. Gold, black, red. Red, black, gold.

He set the feathers on the side table and went to sleep, the only light a faint golden glow of grace.

* * *

When he walked into the War Room, Jack, as usual, was delighted to see him. Gabriel could see his wings fluff out behind him when he came in the room and could tell that the sore spots had already healed. His pin feathers were poking through and though they weren’t gleaming metallic like his and Castiel’s yet, there was a sheen to them that was undeniably grace taking root.

Molts had been relatively gradual with fledgling angels, but Jack had aged himself to late adolescence within minutes of being born – his wings were going to fill in quickly, if they followed the same trend. He couldn’t be sure, honestly. Nephilim were rare, and there’d never been one from an archangel before. Jack was entirely uncharted territory.

“Uncle, look!” Jack fluttered his wing out for Gabriel to look, drawing Bobby’s attention.

“Look at air?” Bobby asked.

“No, my wing.” Jack said it like it was obvious.

“He can’t see it,” Gabriel said, patting Jack’s shoulder. “Humans can’t see your wings unless you manifest them onto the right plane.”

Jack tilted his head. “How do I –”

“No,” Dean said, coming out of the library. “Not till you’re done shedding. Molting. Dropping feathers, whatever. Last thing we need is more mess.”

Jack frowned but nodded, keeping his wings where only Gabriel could see them. He could see more clearly that feathers were growing in and taking on different shades from before.

“Be careful itching them,” he said. “Pin feathers have blood in them. It’ll hurt if they break.”

Jack nodded, already bouncing on his feet and racing over to Castiel when he appeared in the library. Behind Gabriel, Bobby made a light scoffing sound.

“What?” Gabriel asked.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for being good with kids, is all,” Bobby said with a tilt of his head, indicating Jack. Bobby couldn’t see the wings, but he could see Castiel smiling at Jack as he showed him his feathers, and Gabriel could see Jack’s wings stretching out for Castiel to see.

“I’m the angel of children,” he said. “I’m great with kids.”

He was angel of a lot of things, but children were his favorite charge. Originally, millennia ago, he’d argued with Raphael over which of them was in charge of the fledglings. Raphael’s role was the Healer, which could give way to caretaking easily, but he didn’t enjoy teaching and playing with the fledglings like Gabriel did, and Gabriel had argued that being Messenger meant he knew the best way to communicate and teach. Raphael would be serious and strict, curt and to the point, while Gabriel would come up with jokes and tricks to make his little siblings laugh, games to let them stretch their wings and figure out how to fly. Raphael wanted them to be serious and ready for their future as soldiers. Gabriel argued that they would have an eternity to be soldiers, but they were only fledglings once.

He wondered if Castiel could remember the games or if Naomi had taken those memories, too. He wondered if she remembered playing games as a fledgling with Duma and Anael, before they were given different jobs.

He knew Castiel wanted him to return to Heaven with him, try to fix things.

Less than a dozen angels left to run the afterlife. Two on Earth, entertaining the Winchesters and their allies. And a Nephilim, who the other angels thought could make more of them.

Castiel, when telling Gabriel what he’d missed, had mentioned that things were still missing from Heaven’s armory – Lot’s Salt, the Ark of the Covenant, the Staff of Moses, and – most importantly – Gabriel’s own Horn of Truth.

He didn’t tell Castiel that he knew exactly where his Horn was. The archangels were built differently from the rest – they were the first, the strongest, and their weapons, tailored to them, were meant to match their power. He would always be able to find his Horn, and no one but him could use it.

It could force people to tell the truth, but it could also start Judgment Day – which included a resurrection of the dead. And no one but him (and probably his father, wherever he was) knew that he could not only wake the dead without starting Judgment, but he could choose what to resurrect – humans were easiest, but if he wanted, he could bring back monsters from Purgatory.

Or even reapers and demons and angels, sleeping in the Empty.

His grace kept reaching for the Horn, urging him to bring his siblings back, bring them home, fix Heaven with them, let them try again, let them be _better._

“You okay?”

He looked up, Sam’s question snapping him back to reality, Rowena beside him offering Gabriel a cup of coffee.

“’Course I’m fine,” he said, taking the coffee. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” Rowena said, “you’ve been boring a hole into the ground with your eyes for the last five minutes and keep pulsing like you want to run off again.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Pulsing?”

She shrugged, a movement of slim shoulders that made her dress ripple. “There’s a power in human souls that I understand better, but I’d hazard that it’s your grace, archangel that you are. Similar power, but yours is stronger. Primordial.”

“And barely there,” he muttered bitterly from behind his mug.

“You’re recharging,” Sam said. “It’ll fill back up soon enough.”

“And until it does, I’m dead weight.” He set the mug on the table, scanning the map. The pieces on top of it didn’t mean anything so he had no qualms about picking up one of the heavy wooden circles and rolling it around Russia.

“No, you’re not,” Sam said. When he didn’t look up, Sam gripped his shoulder. “You helped us in the Apocalypse World and now you’re helping Jack with his molt. That’s not dead weight.”

Gabriel sighed and pushed Sam’s hand off, meeting his eyes with a hard stare. “And soon enough, his molt will be over, and I’ll be useless again. Not needed by fledglings, not useful for hunts, barely good for helping with spells.”

Rowena moved to stand beside him, leaning against the table. “You can help in other ways,” she whispered, winking at him.

Sam bumped into Gabriel’s shoulder when he took his other side, arms crossed as he inclined his head toward Jack, who was now talking to Castiel and Dean with gesturing hands.

“He doesn’t like having you around because he _needs_ you to help him,” Sam said. “He likes having you around because you’re family.”

“Dean doesn’t,” Gabriel breathed.

“Dean doesn’t much like anyone who isn’t Sam or Castiel,” Rowena pointed out.

“That’s not – well.” Sam stopped, making a slight face, and Rowena laughed.

Dean caught Sam’s eye and shouted, “You gonna stare all day, Mean Girls, or are you gonna help us out in here?”

Sam rolled his eyes but left Gabriel after patting his shoulder. Rowena didn’t move, instead tilting her head toward Gabriel.

“Castiel mentioned that Heaven is dying,” she murmured. “I know _I_ won’t be going there at any point, but it seems a shame.”

“You think I should go fix Heaven with him?” Gabriel asked. “When they want Jack to make them more angels?”

“I think your grace has been pulsing more whenever you’re near Castiel or Jack.” She looked at him, analytical and curious and a little bit mischievous. “I can only imagine what it’d do in Heaven.” 

* * *

He found Castiel sorting through weapons in the armory. A lot were dusty and neglected, leftovers from the old Men of Letters that were a stark contrast from the Winchesters’ organized and well-kept (and shockingly diverse) collection of weapons.

Castiel held out a box of bullets without looking at him. “Smelted from angel blades,” he said when Gabriel took them. “Humans keep finding new ways to persevere.”

“Modern problems require modern solutions,” he said, setting them on the table next to the other angel blades. There were a surprisingly large number of them, but some of them felt different – just left of center, just barely off. He guessed that they came from the Apocalypse World. Different world, different Heaven, different grace filling the blades.

He picked one up, twirling it in his hand before gesturing toward Castiel with it. “Think the other world’s blades will work on angels from our world?”

Castiel looked from the tip of the blade to his face, face devoid of amusement. “I’d rather not find out,” he said tersely.

Gabriel set the blade down, stepping away from the table of weapons. A grumpy Castiel was one inclined to harsh words and short temper, something Gabriel had no interest in.

“I was thinking,” he said, “about Heaven.”

Castiel paused in sorting the angel blades. Gabriel tried not to look at them as his grace swirled, torn between reaching for the blades or his Horn, nor did he look at Castiel, instead turning to the guns on the wall.

“Thinking about – going back?”

Gabriel tilted his head. Shook his shoulders. Pulled his grace to the pit of his stomach to try and make it settle. “What do you know about my Horn?” he asked.

“It starts the Reckoning,” Castiel said, turning back to the weapons. “Rumor says it can force people to tell the truth and resurrect the dead.”

“Which dead?” His voice was soft and Castiel paused.

“Humans, I assumed.” He looked at Gabriel, eyes widening. “Could it –”

Gabriel held up a finger when he looked back at Castiel. “If we go, Jack doesn’t come.”

Castiel blinked. “You don’t want him to see Heaven?”

“I don’t want Naomi and Duma pulling the rug out from under us,” he said. “I don’t trust them.”

Castiel looked at him with his head tilted, eyes narrowing, like he was trying to see past Gabriel’s face but couldn’t find anything.

“Okay,” he agreed after a moment. “We’ll go to Heaven.”

Gabriel could see the smile ghosting at the corners of Castiel’s mouth and felt his grace curl happily, like maybe, just maybe, he was making the right choice.

* * *

He wasn’t sure what he expected the entrance to Heaven to be, but a child’s playground wasn’t it. Indra, laying across the top of the monkey bars with a brown-bagged bottle, jolted and fell into the wood chips below him when he and Castiel showed up.

“Gabriel – sir –”

Gabriel held up a hand. “Chill, dude, I ain’t about to stand on ceremony. We need to get to Heaven.”

“Right. Of course.” Indra pitched the bottle into the trash bin before guiding them to the sandbox and Gabriel pushed down the urge to laugh.

The great kingdom of Heaven, its pearly gates closed but for a public park sandpit in the Midwest. It was funny in how pathetic it was, how emblematic of how far they’d fallen.

 _'If only Dad could see us now,’_ Gabriel thought.

Indra lifted a hand and the door opened, blinding white light in a cloud of dust. Like Lucifer’s wings before he fell, like an angel’s grace, like the halls of Heaven, the blinding white beckoned them all forward.

Deep within him, he felt his grace rebuild itself as he stepped through the door. His wings grew lighter and he could see the golden-blue glow behind him as his grace filled every feather before reaching out, pulsing outward. It recognized home, recognized the source of its being, and he momentarily wished he could show Sam just how strong it could be, show Rowena how powerful he truly was.

They landed in a plain white office and Naomi at least looked surprised at their sudden appearance.

“Gabriel,” she said as she stood up.

He held up a hand as he felt his grace curl toward Castiel and brush against his wings. Looking at him, Gabriel could see his feathers gleaming behind him, but they were fluffing out, wings rigid and stiff. Castiel’s grace flicked toward his own, desperate and frightened. He was still afraid of Naomi.

Gabriel couldn’t blame him – but he could let his grace touch Castiel’s to try and give an inkling of comfort, a notion that he wasn’t alone against Heaven.

His grace twitched toward his Horn, curious and eager.

“We’re not digging into angels’ heads anymore,” he said, turning to Naomi. Her wings twitched behind her and he hated how they still looked well-kept despite their frayed state.

“But –”

“No.” He let his eyes flash with his grace, wings stretching out behind him. “Things are going to be different around here from when Michael and Raphael ran the joint. Who all is left?”

“Total? Ten that we can account for,” Naomi said. “Though only seven have stayed here.”

“And put you in charge?”

She looked at him, head tilted, her lips pressed together in a thin line and her hands clasped in front of her. “I was the most capable,” she said curtly.

Gabriel rolled his neck, flicking his arms out. His grace was full again and he let it do what it wanted – he let it pull his Horn into being, smooth ivory edged in gold that fit perfectly in his hand.

He lifted it above him, catching Naomi’s eye out of the corner of his own. “Well, I think it’s time for a change,” he said to her before turning to Castiel, who was staring at the Horn in shock. “But we’re gonna need more angels.”

He put it to his lips and blew a note he knew would sound clear.

His grace rang out with the sound, breaching through Heaven’s walls without breaking them. No humans would hear it, in Heaven or Hell or Earth, nor any monsters in Purgatory or reapers in the Veil. It went straight to the shadows, the darkness, the void where angels rested after death.

It went straight to the Empty and in the darkness, the Shadow woke as the angels stirred.

And in Heaven, the walls of Naomi’s office shattered with blinding white light.

* * *

When the dust settled, Gabriel was more than a little pleased to see that he and Castiel were the only angels that kept their footing. All around them were their brethren, kneeling and sitting on the ground and looking utterly baffled. The office had vanished, replaced with a sprawling meadow.

“Gabriel,” Castiel breathed, “did you bring back all of them?”

“Yeah, I can’t exactly pick and choose,” he said, wiggling the horn in his hand before sending it back to its usual spot. “But don’t worry.”

Castiel looked at him nervously, wings fluffing up. “Do you know how many angels I killed?” he hissed. “How many wanted to kill _me?”_ His grace flicked out towards Gabriel’s and Gabriel felt his own grace ring with delight at the contact.

Gabriel shrugged, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’m an archangel,” he reminded him. “They’ll listen to me.” He brushed his wing against Castiel’s, gold against black, and moved them both to a hill overlooking the meadow full of angels.

Below them, he could hear his siblings starting to murmur and whisper as they got up, shouting names of friends they’d thought gone and questioning how they’d gotten to Heaven, because weren’t they dead, hadn’t they died?

“You should explain before things get out of hand,” Castiel said. He stood just behind his right shoulder; his eyes were fixed on the angels below them and his right hand twitched like he wanted to pull out his blade.

Gabriel sighed and cleared his throat even though he knew his voice would ring across angel radio. “Welcome home,” he said. “You can thank me, your beloved older brother Gabriel, for bringing you all back from the Empty.”

He could feel their eyes on him despite not being able to make out their faces. To his surprise, some of them still had their wings – they’d died before the Fall, he guessed, so they hadn’t been affected by it.

“Things aren’t going to be the same as they were before.” He spotted Naomi brushing off her suit before putting her arms behind her back in a parade rest. “You’ve died, you’ve been brought back – the past is the past and we’re not going back to things that don’t work.”

Murmurs and chatter sounded below him.

Someone shouted, “Is that Castiel?” and in an instant, hundreds of voices rang out.

“He’s a traitor!”

“He killed me!”

“He gave up Heaven for the _Winchesters!”_

“He tried to become God!”

“He left us behind!”

 _“Enough!”_ Gabriel shouted, his own voice drowning them out as he snapped all six wings out behind him, eyes flashing blue with his grace.

There were enough of them to be loud, but they couldn’t drown out God’s Messenger. 

They quieted below him.

“Mistakes have been made,” he said, “by _many_ angels. Castiel included. _Myself_ included. We’re focusing on being better, which means a regime change.”

“You won’t lead us?” He couldn’t find who the voice belonged to. “But you’re an archangel!”

“So were Michael and Raphael,” he said, “and look where that got us.”

“Oh, please, don’t mince your words, little brother. Tell us what you really think.”

Gabriel jumped at Raphael’s voice. Within seconds, his own archangel blade was in his hand – leather grip and twisted gold, he pointed it at Raphael, but his brother stood calmly with his hands in his pockets, his bronze wings resting relaxed behind him.

“You look surprised,” Raphael said. “You _did_ wake up the angels in the Empty, Gabriel.”

Gabriel shrugged, keeping his blade level. “I knew it’d work on regular angels,” he said. “Wasn’t so sure about archangels.”

Raphael smiled and for a second Gabriel could see his older brother the Healer instead of the last archangel to be left in Heaven, struggling against Castiel power and order. His grace didn’t reach for him, though.

“It worked,” he said. “Arguably too well, in fact.” Raphael lifted a wing and Gabriel and Castiel both gasped.

Sitting on the grass, staring at his hands, was Michael.

“He was in the Cage,” Castiel breathed. “How…”

Gabriel paused and pulled out his Horn, staring at it. “The Horn didn’t resurrect the angels,” he muttered. “It summoned them. All of them.”

His grace sang to him, a joyous ringing of _finally, you finally figured it out._

Behind him, Castiel asked, “Does that mean Lucifer is here, too?”

Gabriel glanced down at the meadow before shaking his head. “I’d feel his grace,” he said. “He’s still in the other world.”

“Other world?” Raphael asked.

“Apocalypse World,” Gabriel said. “Alternate world where the Winchesters were never born. It’s a bad time, terrible for vacation.”

A quiet voice interjected, “Still joking, little brother.”

He caught Michael’s eye and noted that he was shaking slightly – his hands, his body, his wings. He couldn’t hold himself steady, but he smiled at Gabriel.

“Almost a shame that Lucifer’s stuck,” he said. “If he were here, we might be able to fix up the angels’ wings.”

Michael frowned. “What happened to their wings?”

“They –”

“Metatron used a spell to cast us out.” Castiel cut him off, eyes on the ground. “He – tricked me to get the final ingredient.”

Raphael fixed Castiel with an appraising look and Castiel froze. Slowly, Gabriel stretched a wing in front of Castiel, blocking him from Raphael.

Castiel had killed Raphael when he was powered by every Leviathan in Purgatory. Here, flightless and scared, Gabriel knew Raphael would win a fight between them.

“Raphael,” he said carefully, “you’re my brother, and I love you, but if you try and hurt Castiel, I’ll kill you myself.”

“No more killing each other,” Michael said, slowly getting to his feet. “We can find a new way to get their wings back.”

Gabriel snorted. “How optimistic, coming from someone who can barely stand on his own two feet.”

Michael, despite his shakiness, managed to level a steady glare at him. “Years in the Cage would make you shake, too.”

“Try seven years with Asmodeus and get back to me,” Gabriel spat. “I’m setting some ground rules, right here, right now, brother. Heaven didn’t _work_ the way it was before – we need a leadership change, both the who and the how.”

“What we _need_ is to set history back on its course,” Raphael argued.

Gabriel swung his blade up, pressing it against Raphael’s neck without drawing blood. His grace thrummed under his skin, itching to burst out, to protect.

“Try to start the Apocalypse,” he growled, “or _touch_ the Winchesters, and you’ll go right back to the Empty. Lucifer’s gone. We’re not looking for him, we’re not starting the end of the world. Castiel and I will stay long enough to get Heaven running properly, but once it’s under control, we’re going home.”

“Heaven is home,” Michael told him. Slowly, carefully, he reached out to grip Gabriel’s wrist. “You’re _home_ for the first time in millennia, Gabriel, and you’re already planning to leave?”

He thought of Heaven’s endless expanse, where his siblings waited for him to return and sound the start of Judgment Day, where billions of souls lived in eternal memories and solitude, where he was meant to curb his jokes and humor and train soldiers.

He thought of the Bunker, where Rowena was poring over ancient grimoires and Sam was studying every lore book he could find, where Dean had movie nights with Castiel and cooked meals for his family, where Jack watched cartoons with him and asked question after question after question.

“My home is on Earth,” he said. “It has been for centuries. But I’ll help you fix Heaven as best I can.”

Michael’s grace pressed against his, warm and questioning and strong, imploring, _stay, please stay._

His grace pressed back, defiant and stubborn and willful, insisting, _listen, please listen._

“We can’t give the angels their wings without Lucifer,” Raphael reminded him.

Castiel brushed his wing against Gabriel’s. “We might have an alternative to Lucifer,” he murmured.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, finally dropping his arm and looking at Castiel. “You don’t mean –”

“It might be our best chance.”

“You want to bring him here?”

“You and I can keep him safe.”

“From everything?”

“He doesn’t need to see everything,” Castiel said. “Just the three of you.”

Gabriel frowned. “And if it doesn’t work?”

Castiel shrugged. “Then it doesn’t work.”

“Care to explain?” Raphael asked.

Gabriel sighed. “We have to go back to Earth,” he said. “But we’ll be back. Don’t do anything while we’re gone.”

Michael smiled at him, fond and warm. “We’ll be here.”

Gabriel put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and pointed at Michael and Raphael with his blade. “And don’t let anyone kill each other!” he added before flying them both home.

* * *

They landed in the War Room, where the lights were bright red and Sam and Dean were hunched over a computer.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked.

Dean jumped out of his seat and pulled Castiel into a hug. “Christ, Cas, we thought something bad happened,” he muttered.

“Jack got a burst over angel radio,” Sam said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Rowena’s with him in his room.”

Castiel untangled himself from Dean to follow Gabriel, racing to Jack’s room.

Rowena shot up from where was crouched beside his bed, worry etched across her face. Jack was curled up, holding his head in his hands as he cried.

“Make it _stop,”_ he whimpered. Castiel darted over, putting a hand against Jack’s head. Jack uncurled enough to cling to him and Castiel ran a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him.

“What happened?” Rowena asked, stepping away from the bed and looking at Gabriel.

“Angel radio,” Gabriel said. “Large burst.”

“I know _that!”_ she said. “I meant what happened to _you?_ You’re practically glowing!”

Gabriel looked at her. “I went to Heaven,” he whispered. “I brought the angels back from the Empty.”

“My head hurts,” Jack mumbled into Castiel’s shoulder. “Why are they so _loud?_ Why are there so many now?”

“Sorry about that, kid,” Gabriel said, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. His grace leapt toward Jack’s, wrapping around him until Jack sighed and uncurled. “I didn’t think about how loud my siblings can be.”

Jack blinked. “I thought most of the angels were dead,” he said. “In the Empty?”

Gabriel wiggled his fingers. “Archangel. Special powers. That said, we might need your help.”

Jack pulled away from Castiel when Gabriel sat on the bed. His wings were pulled tight against his back and he flinched when Castiel tried to stroke them.

“In Heaven?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t want me to go to Heaven.”

“It’s not my first choice,” Gabriel admitted. “But there’s a chance we could give the angels their wings back.”

Jack brightened immediately and Gabriel knew he was hooked.

* * *

Getting back to the meadow was easy, and true to their word, Michael and Raphael were waiting where they’d left them. No one had joined them on their little hill, though Gabriel could see the other angels milling about aimlessly below them.

While Castiel and Gabriel landed easily, Jack stumbled slightly with a laugh, his wings flapping behind him as he regained his balance.

“It’s bright here,” he said to Castiel. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello.”

Raphael tilted his head at Jack before looking at Gabriel. “A Nephilim?”

“Lucifer’s Nephilim,” Gabriel said. “We don’t have Lucifer, but Jack’s power is derived from his, and he’s stronger than he looks.”

Michael blinked. “He’s a fledgling,” he said, pointing at Jack’s wings. “And he uses his wings… oddly.”

Jack snapped his wings out, looking at Michael. “Why’s it odd?” he asked.

“Angels don’t usually use their wings to… emote,” Raphael said carefully.

Jack furrowed his brows and looked at Castiel. “Why not?”

Castiel shrugged. “We only ever used them for flight and posturing,” he admitted.

“So, I shouldn’t use them for anything else?”

“You can if you want to,” Gabriel said. “The book we need is in the library –”

Raphael held up a thick tome. “I already retrieved it,” he said.

Michael was still watching Jack curiously, head tilted slightly. His wings, shining silver, were folded behind him, but his smallest pair stretched out slightly toward Jack’s outstretched red wings.

Jack looked at it and touched the tip of his wing to Michael’s, giggling when some of Michael’s grace stretched out and tickled his feathers.

“Your grace is different from Castiel’s or Uncle’s,” he said. “Not a bad different, though.”

“Fascinating,” Raphael breathed. “How old is he?”

Jack turned to Raphael with a friendly smile plastered across his face. “I’m a year old,” he said.

Raphael blinked and looked at Gabriel, who nodded.

“Yeah, apparently, he aged himself straight to late adolescence a few minutes after he was born,” Gabriel said. “Okay, spell. Let’s see if it works.”

The spell wasn’t easy, necessarily, but they had all the components already. The necessity of four archangels had more to do with both power and how early the spell had been made than their primordial origins. Gabriel whispered instructions to Jack.

He knew his nephew was smart and he had faith he would manage perfectly well when he had to add his grace to the spell.

He still worried that the spell wouldn’t work, and they’d blame Jack and try to hurt him. He wasn’t sure if the urge to protect Jack was his grace or himself, but he let Jack brush against his wings anyway.

“Jack, you’ll read after Michael,” Raphael said, “in place of Lucifer.”

Jack tilted his head. “It’s in the order you were made?”

Raphael nodded and Gabriel realized that meant he’d have to go _last._ He loathed the notion, but he couldn’t argue with it.

Raphael mixed the ingredients.

Michael started reading.

Gabriel let his grace mix with theirs. Michael’s reserved, Jack’s curious, Raphael’s stern, his own humorous.

A bright light centered where their graces met and mingled, forming a ball before it burst, blinding white rushing over and past them until they couldn’t see.

Gabriel’s only evidence that Jack was still beside him was his wing, brushing against Gabriel’s arm. His grace, frightened and young, leapt toward Gabriel’s for comfort and he wrapped his wings around his nephew.

The light went down. They were still standing, Jack shaking slightly against Gabriel’s wings.

“Did it work?” Gabriel asked, looking around as he folded his wings back.

“Yes.” Castiel tapped his shoulder and stretched out his wings – the missing chunks had regrown, and the feathers were full and shining different colors in Heaven’s light, black giving way to rainbow shades of metallic. “It worked.”

Jack made a delighted sound and flapped his wings before halting to stare at them. “Uncle,” he whispered.

Gabriel turned, freezing to take in Jack’s wings.

Red feathers still covered the top of his wings, bright and shiny, but they gave way to sunset oranges in the middle and pinks along the edge down to bright gold at the bottom. The blast must have forced his molt to finish when it gave the rest of their angels their wings back, and Jack ran his fingers through his wing with a shaky hand.

“They’re like yours,” he said, looking at Gabriel, “but – reversed.”

Gabriel grinned. “They’re great,” he murmured.

Michael tilted his head. “You’re Lucifer’s son,” he said, “but you’re not like him.”

“He’s my biological father,” Jack said. He flapped his wings back and forth, rocking with the motion with a smile as he watched the colors of his feathers shift with the light. “Castiel is my dad. And Sam and Dean, too.”

Castiel smiled softly at Jack. “You did well,” he said. To Gabriel, he asked, “What now?”

Gabriel inhaled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “A new structure, I think,” he said.

“That you want to design,” Raphael said dryly, “and not participate in.”

“I’m not a leader,” Gabriel pointed out. “But there are angels who are.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes at him. “And you’ll actually try to kill me if I try to start Judgment?”

“In a heartbeat,” Gabriel said. He slipped his blade out of his sleeve again, twirling it in his hand casually.

Raphael looked at Michael, eyebrows raised.

“I spent years in the Cage,” Michael said, voice tired. “Time is different in Hell. It was eight years on Earth, but it felt like millennia.”

“Hell does that,” Gabriel muttered. He pushed back the memory of white suits and heavy Southern accents, focusing on his grace reaching for Jack, who was looking at the meadow full of angels with curious interest.

Michael fixed his gaze on Raphael. “I’ve no interest in starting the Apocalypse, especially with Lucifer in another world. We can let Earth and the humans be and focus on Heaven.” He turned to Gabriel. “You have an idea of where to start?”

Gabriel grinned at his brother. “A few.”

* * *

The Bunker was silent when they got back, the lights back to normal, and Sam and Dean were drinking in the library, Rowena reading a large book in one of the armchairs. None of them startled when they popped in, Dean not even bothering to lift his head from where it was resting against the table.

“How’s Heaven?” Sam asked, kicking out a chair that Gabriel collapsed into.

“Getting a renovation,” Gabriel said.

“And the angels?” Dean asked.

Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. “Restored,” he said quietly. “Gabriel brought them back from the Empty and Jack helped us get our wings back.” He nodded toward Jack, who sat on Dean’s other side as Castiel pulled out his own chair.

Dean’s head shot up. “You have your wings back?”

Sam looked at Gabriel. “You can do that?”

“We did it,” Gabriel said, stealing Sam’s beer. “And, more importantly, we gave the angels a few conditions to follow if they don’t want us to reverse it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Gabriel drained half the beer in a gulp, sighing in relief. “No starting the Apocalypse. No going after Jack for being a Nephilim. And no going after either of you, or any of your friends, for any reason.”

Sam blinked before his face gave way to a soft smile. “No more angel problems for us, then?”

“None,” Gabriel said. “Unless there’s some rogue angels, which wouldn’t surprise me, frankly, but – no more divine interference.”

“Thank fuck,” Dean sighed. He looked at Jack. “So, what about you? Enjoy your field trip?”

Jack beamed at him, pushing his chair back. “I finished molting, look!”

He made his wings materialize with a golden flash, making Dean jump back and slam his chair into Castiel’s. Rowena finally looked up, eyes lighting up with interest.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed.

“Christ!” Dean gripped the arm of his chair. “Jack, warn me next time.”

Sam was already out of his chair, peering at Jack’s wings. “That’s incredible,” he said, awe apparent in his voice. “Do the colors mean anything?”

Jack tilted his head and looked from Castiel to Gabriel.

“Color theory is a human invention,” Gabriel said. “But he’s got the same gold as me, so he must take after me.”

“God, I hope not,” Dean breathed, ghosting his fingers over Jack’s outstretched wing. “One Trickster is enough.”

Rowena moved to peer at Jack’s wings and he smiled at her, extending one until it brushed against her hand.

“The colors are gorgeous,” she told him with a smile.

She let Jack turn his attention back to Dean and Castiel, focusing hers on Gabriel.

“Didn’t I tell you it’d be interesting?” she whispered, pecking his cheek with a kiss.

“You were right,” he murmured. “Though I doubt I’ll go back frequently. It’s in capable hands.”

Sam leaned against the table, letting Rowena slot herself between them. “Who’s in charge now?”

“Michael and Raphael, and a few others.” He nodded at Sam’s surprised expression. “Turns out my Horn doesn’t just resurrect the dead, it can summon any and every angel back to Heaven, no matter where they are, so long as they're in this Universe. A few already went back to the lives they made on Earth, but most are in Heaven, building it to be better.”

“Better how?” Rowena asked.

“Heaven’s an eternal memory lane,” Sam said. “Constantly reliving your best memories.”

Rowena frowned. “That sounds rather lonely.”

“It is,” Gabriel said. “Jack and Castiel suggested a more open-world Heaven – reflecting Earth, but without all the aches and pains and problems. Eternity with the ones you love.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And the angels went for that?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Jack’s half human, and Castiel understands humanity better than any angel. They may not like him, but they know he knows his shit when it comes to human behavior. The restructuring is gonna take a while, but by the time you die, Heaven will be ready.”

Sam snorted. “Unless Billie drops us in the Empty when we kick it,” he pointed out.

Gabriel lifted a hand, staring at Sam. “Hello, I just pulled every angel out of the Empty. I could get you back in a heartbeat, Sam.”

Sam frowned and Gabriel sighed, letting his grace prod at Sam’s soul. It wasn’t too unlike an angel’s grace that was power around the core of their being – his soul was emotion and compassion and it jumped at the contact. It was apprehensive, and Gabriel’s grace flicked against it gently.

 _Trust me,_ it whispered, soft and kind.

Sam shivered, drawing his eyebrows together and staring at Gabriel, who simply smiled at him. Sam relaxed and Gabriel could see the tension ease as his grace wrapped around him, warm and comforting.

“Not around the child,” Rowena admonished under her breath. “Honestly.”

Gabriel pulled his grace back, but not before brushing it against Rowena’s soul. She rolled her eyes at him, but he could feel the welcome give of her soul, all mischief and intrigue, and his grace made a delighted ring before he reigned it in.

“We’ve got time to figure it out, Sam,” Gabriel said, lifting his bottle. “As much time as we need.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile and he grabbed his own beer, clinking the neck against Gabriel’s. “I guess we do,” he whispered.

His lips twitched into a smile around his beer as he watched the room. He’d spent millennia running from home, but now, with Sam and Rowena relaxing beside him, with Dean and Castiel sharing soft smiles and words with each other and Jack, with Jack laughing as he played with his wings and chattered, his grace sang like maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found his real home.

**Author's Note:**

> So, fun fact, I looked up how big a pair of wings would have to be for a human to fly and it's about twenty two feet. Fucking massive.  
> How does grace work? Is it like the angel equivalent of a soul, since it's the source of their power? The most notable difference I can think of is a human losing their soul removes their emotions, but an angel losing their grace just gets rid of their powers, but that's not as much fun, so the concept of grace is that it's the core of an angel's being, what they were built around, and Gabriel's tenets for his grace are humor, compassion, and love.  
> I haven't watched seasons fourteen and fifteen yet, but I know how the show ends and just kind of. Shuffled the revised Heaven forward to fit my need and brought back the archangels for self-indulgent plot device. Because fanfiction.  
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! And I'm on tumblr @reminiscentrevelry if you wanna chat.


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